Cover Art By Ian Casey

INTRO- Jack Williams, Editor In Chief

You are probably wondering what you have just stumbled onto. It was my idea and even I dont know exactly what it is. Essentially, my friends and I needed an outlet for our creativity, and Blown is it. It is a combination of all the underground culture we love. Blown is not meant to appeal to the masses. It is not meant to report on politics or celebrities (who in my opinion, reporting on is a waste of ink) or the news of the day. Society is crushing creativity, with schools made to create members of the workforce, and corporations destroying originality and small business. This is our way of ghting back. This is Blown.

Jack Williams, Editor In Chief Photos by Amber Truett

Local
Sages Caf-Mekenna Malan
Let me preface this by saying that I am not a vegetarian. However, I enjoy nothing more than exploring vegetarian organic restaurants solely because they never fail to open my eyes to new interesting foods and food alternatives. Sages Caf is a rare little gem in Salt Lake City, with gorgeous design and intensely delicious food. One reason for their unique taste may be because they use traditional cooking techniques none of which include microwaves, fryers, or heat lamps. Their foods are free from preservatives (the only canned foods they use are tomatoes and coconut milk) and their sea salt is harvested underground locally. Sages purchases teas and coffees that are certied organic, shade-grown, and fair trade. I had the pleasure of eating at Sages Caf on a beautiful rainy day, and after walking through the front door, turned to nd a wall covered in awards. Sages has won the award of Best Vegetarian from the Salt Lake City Weekly Best of Utah for twelve years running, as long as many other impressive titles. I understood why once I took my rst bite into my Nut Burger, which tasted better than any burger Ive had, even my favorite hamburger joint. Almost everything on Sages menu is gluten-free or can be made gluten-free, and the entre options are diverse and interesting, including a top-notch chicken substitute called seitan (pronounced SATAN, haha) that I believe deserves a shot next time I eat at the caf. Sages Caf is located on 473 East 300 South Salt Lake City, UT 84111.

PieHole - Kaden Cornett

Pizza. Oh, how I love pizza. Hot melty cheese, spicy cured meats, and veggies atop a circle of dough. It's been done many times many ways, but my favorite is denitely SLC's quirky Pie Hole. It's the illest ish served on a dish. It's creative but not over the top pizza selection, hot as hell hearty chicken wings, amazing prices, and unique yet strangely inviting atmosphere make it the bomb. It's probably one of the only places I can get three slices of New York style pie with quality toppings and a drink for around $10 sit under a wall of PBR, play classic pinball arcade games, and then draw an artistic and tasteful set of male genitalia on the bathroom with a sharpie the employee supplied me with. This is obviously a big spot for hoards of hipsters to congregate, but when I go in for lunch most the customers are families and business men. There are other locations in Utah and Idaho, but each one has original local art, arcade games. Pie Hole is bitchin and original, unlike its. Pie Hole consistently rocks my socks off and is totes the chillest hang in the city of salt. PieHole Pizzeria is located on 344 South State Street, Salt Lake City, UT, 84111

Artwork

Untitled London Musgrave Salvador Dali London Musgrave

Untitled Mekenna Malan

Untitled Mekenna Malan

Poetry
Monsters, Monsters!-Noah Wilcock Monster, monster, hidden under my bed, Waiting until the lights turned off, for me to turn my head, To ll the gap where sanity had ed.

I see dead people, brain dead people, Noses buried in young adult ction, Pansy wolves and fanged bedazzled fags, A worthless writer who writes with witless diction.

Monster! Monster! Under my bed!

Mommy and daddy are happy, Scamming tommy and sally, Depriving them of two Christmases, Regardless of American statistics and their promises.

Welcome to today, the real monster that made me, made us, The era of tech savvy brats, bass ackwards baseball caps, Political gay bashings with bibles as baseball bats, their wedding rings melted for scraps.

Family reunions in fear of extinction, Beaten to death by Facebook, Facebook replacing face to face time,

Monster, a gym class hero, Past high school reality awaits. In reality nothing more, Than a fucking zero.

And Facetime considered intimate.

Call me a monster; its better than a hipster, I drowned my sympathy and stability in the mainstream, As my sanity balances, Like a drunk on a balance beam.

Roses are red, Roses are red, Soaked red by my pricked thumb that bled, Nothing is beautiful without rst broken.

Why isnt Amanda Todd sponsored by Clorox yet?

They would sell out, a dollar Id bet, Box by box, shelf by shelf, Maybe even label it with a blue ribbon to promote itself

Monster, monster under my bed, Monster, monster under your bed, Haunting your dreams with dread from within.

Youve met the monster under your bed. Me, Robert and the monster within, Share common ticks, We roam malls in search for kids, and popular kin, Kids and their damn pumped up kicks! Monster, monster, under the bed Monster! Monster under the bed! You know, the little evil voice, in the back of your head, Ignoring the things hes said, As he gads in your head.

A troubled babysitter, with cocaine the remedy, Doing lines as the baby cries, cries and whines, Overdose, overdose, shallowly buried in a comatose, Personal choice mistaken for tragedy.

Pop goes the weasel, as the odd toddlers squeeze, then hid it in the freezer, An aspiring Ted Bundy, having wet dreams of pushing Humpty Dumpty off the wall, Staring as cement breaks his fall, Wheres Casey Anthony when you need her?

He has spoken! The monster within,

Photography
Right: Amber Truett captures the haunting beauty of Ogdens Abandoned Rail bridge.

Below: Blown Graphic Artist Ian Casey Is captured in a shot while watching the ogden river below

Right: Mekenna Malan Captures a man in thought at Sages Cafe

Short Stories
Golden State- Mekenna Malan
Although he awoke to it every morning, the shrill calls of gulls and the salty smell of pacic waves were something he would never take for granted. Giving way to a yawn, he squinted his tired eyes as they adjusted to the brightening world around him. The air was a ltered grey-blue; the sun not yet peaked over the horizon. Some devoted locals had already begun gathering at the waters edge, pulling on their wetsuits, surfboards in tow. Shopkeepers began turning on their kitchen lights and preparing food for the breakfast rush, leaving the doors open to their little restaurants, allowing the salty air to mix with the mouthwatering scents that they were creating. It smelled delicious, and his stomach grumbled as he imagined digging into a plate full of pancakes covered in sweet syrup. He rolled up the bed that consisted of two tattered blankets, stuffed them into his backpack, and slowly hobbled out from under the boardwalk. On his way to the most inexpensive caf, he nodded politely to passersby and inserted a Good morning, when necessary. They usually replied in kind, with morning greetings of their own and a sympathetic smile. Every once and a while, someone would return his salutation with a look of disgust, or simply ignore him because of embarrassment. He didnt mind. He reminded himself that those who had a hard time being kind to others were merely going through a personal struggle too great to be cheerful, and they needed help. He was never bitter. He remembered each and every struggling individual in his evening prayer. God, I remember the woman who pulled her child to the other side of the street as I walked past today. Please bless her tomorrow while she silently teaches her little girl the ways of life, that she might grow up to carry this world in the right direction. Bless this young mother that she might stay educated and prepared, and also that her husband might remain safe and able, so that they might be able to live the rest of their long lives without the worry of money. Dear Lord, I forgive the man who spat on me today as I was sitting on the corner of the street. I pray that he might nd the courage to face what is making him so angry. Make him strong in spirit and in ethic, that his burdens might soon be lifted. He used the last crumpled dollar bills that hed acquired the day before to buy a small stack of pancakes and a cup of the cafs blackest coffee. He skimmed the free Sunday paper and mused at the crowds slowly gathering on the sand out the window. In this setting, eating breakfast and reading the paper, he looked like any other California man. Only upon closer examination of the muss of his hair and the dirt on his nose could one assume that he slept under the pier every night. As the sun got higher in the sky, the blue ocean water gleamed in an ever-changing pattern of loose seaweed and white foam. It was a beautiful day, and he was thankful that he was given the gift of experiencing it.

To Be Continued in Next Issue

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